The Story of Matthew
by Twilightboy
Summary: This is the story of a man named Matthew, in Nevada. Everyday, Matthew keeps walking down a long, almost infinite stretch of highway. Everyday, Matthew recalls his past deeds. Some righteous, some evil. Will he ever stop walking? Or will he go on forever?
1. Cannibals

Mojave Wasteland, Nevada  
>September 2, 2082<p>

Hey. My name is Matthew Shelton.  
>I'm from Tennessee originally, but for some retarded reason I felt the urge to come out here to Nevada. The place is a hellhole, but an admittedly fun and peaceful one too. Over the past few months of walking, I've had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to rest. I've also had plenty of time to practice my marksmanship...on live targets. Radscorpions, Geckos, Bloatflies, Cazadores, man I hate Cazadores. They're tough to hit and when you do luck out and hit one it shrugs it off and keeps coming. The Mojave'd be a better place without Cazadores in my opinion. Anyway, back to my life. Sometimes I struggle for survival, but that only makes it more fun, turns life into an adventure you know? I scavenge for food in the ruins of old cities and towns sometimes, but most of the time I live off of wild fruits and vegetables or meat. Bighorner and Brahmin Steak, yum. For water, I usually just scoop some out of a puddle or river and boil it real good before I run it through a few filters and fill up my canteen. I've learned how to survive out here from a few friends, I know how to get water from a cactus, how to rig up a decent time bomb, how to repair weapons. Speaking of which, my weapons. I love weapons. Seriously, I LOVE weapons. Right now, there's a nice new Hunting Rifle on my back and an<br>M&A 9mm Pistol on my hip. I keep a knife handy of course, for skinning animals and such. It's in a shieth on my left hip. It always is, it always will be. Now then, why don't I tell you my little story...

I wiped sweat off my brow with one hand, holding my Duffle Bag with the other.  
>Sighing, I readjust my grey NCR Civilain Ranger's hat. A pair of Authority glasses sit perched on my nose, hiding my eyes from view and apparently turning all of my expressions into a serious stare. I pulled my large canteen from my Duffle Bag, uncapped it, and took a sip. The water was warm from the heat but still refreshing on my dry lips and tongue. Recapping the canteen and tossing it back in my Duffle Bag I groan as I heft the bag off the ground and slip the strap across my chest, the heavy bag hanging my shoulders and bumping into my back every time I move.<br>Suddenly, by the grace of God, there a light breeze wafted across the desert, causing my dark brown duster to billow out behind me. I removed my hat and smiled as the wind blew over my face and across my shaved head. Too soon, the breeze ended and I ran a hand across my prickly buzz cut. I replaced the hat and slowly started walking again, my rifle held by the handguard with my right hand as I slowly continue my long walk down this Godforsaken strip of pavement.  
>My food's running low, I need to find something to eat, unfortunately Radscorpions and Nightstalkers aren't exactly easy to find nor are they very tasty. Maybe I'll find a town ahead? Maybe they'll give me some food and water and a place to sleep. Or maybe they'll try to shoot me for coming near their settlement and I'll be forced to either find a way to wipe out the entire settlement or just escape. I did that once, wiped out a settlement. The entire settlement. I'll admit I've done some things I'm not proud of, but that, that wasn't one of them. It was back in Tennessee, back home...<p>

In Monterey, there was a small settlement of maybe 70 people living in a tiny fort of sorts. A collection of houses and shacks surrounded by a concrete wall.  
>Guards patrolled the top of the wall and shot anyone who came near. This I could understand to a degree, they wanted to be left alone and people had no business coming on their land. But then I learned their secret from a man named Tyrone. Tyrone was about 30 years old, tall, muscled guy, had a really cool looking beard. He and his militia had been trying to sneak into the settlement for some time. He offered me some caps if I helped and I briefly considered it, I asked a few questions, such as, why did he want to get into the settlement? To wipe it out of course. Why did he want to wipe it out? Then came the shocker. The settlers? They were all cannibals. They ate people. That's why they shot anyone who came near them, for food. But they weren't cannibals out of necessity, they had plenty of food that they traded for slaves to eat. They were cannibals through choice. It disgusted me. It was evil, vile, an abomination. I agreed to join Tyrone in the attack under the condition the children weren't harmed. He agreed and we set out for the attack at nightfall. Tyrone, Me, and 13 others carefully slinked through the brush towards the fort, the only light coming from the torches the guards had lit. Tyrone hefted an incendiary grenade and handed it to me, time for the diversion. I yanked the pin out and hurled the grenade as hard as I could to the front gate of the fort, as soon as the grenade left my hand, our party started for the side wall again. There was a thundering explosion and a small fireball lit the night briefly. There were shouts and some gunshots aimed at nothing in particular as the guards rushed to the front gate, leaving the side wall largely undefended. Once we reached the side wall, the commotion had started to die down somewhat, the guards were still rushing about the fort looking for the source of the explosion but at least the gunfire had stopped. I noticed there were only two guards on our side of the wall, good. Two of Tyrone's men with silenced sniper rifles quickly shot both guards dead. That was my signal of sorts. I hefted the grappling hook and hurled it over the wall, catching it on an unseen piece of equipment or structure. Testing its security with a jerk, I slowly started to climb up. There were no gunshots so apparently we hadn't been detected yet. Climbing over the wall and glancing around quickly, I waved down to Tyrone who then started up the rope after me, his men behind him. I quickly searched the two cannibal guards and to my delight found a few dozen rounds of .308 for my Hunting Rifle. Helping Tyrone over the wall I unslung my rifle and we all slowly started to take our positions. Crouched down along the wall, we all couldn't keep our breathing very quiet or our heart rates very low as we prepared to take our shots. Tyrone shouted "FIRE!" and 15 guns of various types all fired at once at several different targets. Most of the guards on the wall were hit and fell down to the ground below. Those who survived, where confused for just long enough to get shot during the next volley. Turning our attention to the buildings inside the fort, we waited for the settlers to emerge from their homes before firing another volley, cutting down armed and unarmed people alike. After we fired a fourth volley into the houses below, we all reloaded, and charged down the ladders and stairs to the ground below, storming the camp like demons bursting forth from the gates of hell. I viciously slammed the stock of my rifle into a cannibal's face, shattering his jaw and sending him to the ground in agonizing pain. I finished him off with a shot to the head before I joined the main group in a charge towards the houses. Finally, the cannibals returned fire and struck two of our party, killing them instantly. We were unphased however, screaming like wild men we burst into house after house, kicking in the door and killing anything inside. I noticed several children in some of the homes but tried to ignore them as they cowered in the corner. I felt a small twinge of remorse as a 15 year old boy picked up a shotgun and fired at us only to be cut down by a hail of fire. Within 15 minutes, we'd wiped out the population of the settlement save for the children and several women who would be caring for them. We'd made an agreement with them, if they swore never to eat another piece of human flesh, and agreed to leave Monterey then we'd release them so they could take the children as far away from their old home as possible. We let them have some of the crops from the fort and some water but none of the human meat they'd stored up. The women and children had agreed and left the fort, now under our control. Now that the people'd been taken care of, we had to reorganize the fort. We went through every inch of every building and seized plenty of supplies. Weapons, ammunition, some food, water, and medical supplies. The cannibals had some armor laying around too which we of course took. After we'd finished looting the place, we found the butcher shop. Never before in my life have I seen such a disturbing sight. Chunks of meat, human meat, hung from meat hooks, smaller pieces sat on tables and in cooking pans. A few bones sat in the corner in a neat pile and partially mutilated human remains layed out on tables. To our surprise, we found a living victim there. A slave the cannibals had purchased but held off on killing because they wanted the meat to be fresh in the morning or because they'd just been too lazy to do it that night. He was a young man, 20 years old with long untrimmed hair. He wore an old brahmin skin outfit spattered with blood. We quickly released him, and he joined Tyrone's group, elated to hear of his devourers' demise. We weren't sure at first what to do with the meat and remains in the shack so we simply dug a hole in the bottom of the shack, dumped everything in it, and then filled it in. Afterwards we burned the shack down around the grave of sorts and moved on to our final job. We gathered all the bodies of the cannibals as well as our own dead and placed them in to different rows. We stripped all the bodies of armor, weapons, and ammunition but left their clothing on. It was of no use to us. Finally, we buried our dead, marked their graves, said a prayer and then moved on to the cannibals. We went to the back of the fort and dug a deep trench, roughly 5 feet deep, then we simply tossed the bodies into the pit in a sloppy pile. We filled in the mass grave and left a single marker on it, informing any who read it that below the marker were 60 cannibals, slain in the battle of the fort. After all was said and done, I spoke with Tyrone, who rewarded me for my help with a thousand caps they'd looted, a combat armor breast plate piece, a few hundred rounds of .308 and as a thank you for all my help with everything including the cleanup, he taught me how to better repair and maintain my rifle. When he'd finished with my rifle it looked like a newly made prewar rifle and I was amazed at his skill. I quickly learned how to maintain the rifle myself and spent the night at the fort, eventually setting off the next day. <p>

Now, months later I'm holding the rifle I used that day, wearing the armor I'd been given under my duster, and despite having aided in the killing of 60 people, I feel no remorse. Tyrone and company are, to the best of my knowledge, still living in the fort. As I continued walking down the long, seemingly infinite stretch of road, the sun started to dip behind the mountains and out of view. It'd be nightfall soon and I'd need a place to stay. Unfortunately, there were no trees for miles and no buildings around that hadn't been leveled. So I kept walking, picking up speed slightly as the world grew darker. Eventually I started to jog down the road, the cool night air occasionally swooping inside my duster and freezing me for a few moments before I pulled the long garmet tighter around myself. Finally, I spotted something. A small gas station, largely intact and apparently uninhabited. I slung my rifle along with my bag and drew my pistol, slowly approaching the gas station I wasn't sure if I should shout my presence, or stay hidden so I carefully crept forward, my pistol aimed slightly downwards. I pushed the door open and the bell connected to it jingled loudly, signaling my presence to anyone inside the building. "Hello?" I called. There was no reply so I slowly began to creep past the cash register and into the back storage room. There was nothing there either. Satisfied that the building was secure, I holstered my pistol and went back to the door. The lock still worked, so I of course took advantage of that, pausing to test the door knob before gathering some tin cans and soda bottles for my trap. I piled up the tin cans in a neat stack against the door and placed a few soda bottles on top of the pile. If anyone opened the door, they'd first have to pick the lock, then jingle the bell, then knock over the pile of cans and the glass soda bottles, just to get inside the building. Just to be safe however, upon retreating to the storage room, I partially closed the door, leaving it cracked just enough to balance a glass soda bottle atop the door. Finally, I rummaged through my duffle bag and rolled out my sleeping bag in the corner of the room. Kicking off my boots and removing my breast plate, hat, and shades, I slid into the sleeping bag and closed my eyes, exhausted from the day of walking. Within minutes, sleep found me and I welcomed its warm embrace as I drifted off peacefully. Tomorrow was another day and another fight. Fighting with all sorts of deadly creatures in the wastes and with my own memories. I tried not to think of the hardships to come as I slept but despite my efforts, I couldn't help but think of some of the things I actually DID regret...


	2. Caravaneers

Mojave Wasteland, Nevada  
>September 3'rd, 2082<p>

I slowly opened one eye, peeking around the storage room to make sure no one was there, thinking I was asleep and trying to sneak past me with some of my supplies. There was only me in the small room though. I opened both eyes and slid out of my sleeping bag, stretching and yawning loudly. Another day, another memory, another adventure. I rolled up by sleeping bag and stuffed it into my duffle bag. Donning my boots, breast plate, hat, and shades, my blurry vision slowly started to clear up. I picked up my bag and slung my rifle with the lowest of grunts. I pulled open the door and easily plucked the glass soda bottle out of the air, setting it down at me feet with a soft plink. I went to the front door and pulled it open, knocking over the tin cans and soda bottles with a loud rattling, shattering noise. Stepping outside, I winced slightly as the sun shined brightly into my face. It took a second to get used to it as I stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking. Flanked on either side by infinite desert and seeing only a small hill ahead, I wondered how long it would take me to reach civilization. Or even better, how long it would take me to find something dangerous. Reaching the top of the hill, my eyebrows raised in surprise at the pack brahmin and caravaneer who sat at the bottom, cooking something on a campfire. My hand drifted down to my pistol's holster, resting there casually as I strode down the hill, the Caravaneer waved slightly, but I noticed his double barreled shotgun, fittingly dubbed a Caravan Shotgun due to its frequent use by men like the one below me. I smiled slightly and flicked my hand up off my hip in a wave as I descended to his campfire.  
>"Howdy stranger."<br>the caravaneer greeted, gesturing for me to sit by the campfire.  
>"Howdy."<br>I replied. His pack Brahmin mooed long and loud.  
>"Want some Fiend Stew?"<br>he offered, holding a bowl out to me after scooping a helping into his own bowl.  
>"Sure, thanks."<br>I replied, taking the bowl and digging into the delicious stew. Small chunks of meat and vegetables floating through the tasty, buttery broth. As I chewed on a rough chunk of Brahmin meat, the man introduced himself, "I'm Bruce. Bruce Rockwell."  
>I swallowed the meat, now thoroughly pulverized by my teeth,<br>"I'm Lieutenant Matthew Shelton. Uh, retired. You work for Crimson?"  
>Bruce shook his head, a slightly smug look on his face,<br>"Naw man, I own my caravan. It's a long hard job, but the sense of freedom and adventure is worth it."  
>I smiled and nodded, understanding.<br>"That's why I'm out here too."  
>Bruce finished off his bowl and scooped another helping in.<br>"So are you NCR?"  
>I shook my head and his eyes seemed to narrow ever so slightly,<br>"You're not with the Legion, or rather, what's left of them. Are you?"  
>I shook my head, "No way. I don't associate with slavers. I'm with the RoT."<br>Bruce cocked his head slightly,  
>"RoT? Is that like a merc company or a militia group?"<br>I held out my bowl for another helping of the stew and Bruce happily obliged,  
>"No. The Republic of Tennessee."<br>I answered.  
>"Tennessee? Aren't you a bit far from home?"<br>I shrugged, pulling back the refilled bowl as Bruce placed the empty pot aside.  
>"I wanted adventure."<br>I chuckled slightly, "I sure as hell got it."  
>Bruce chuckled as well, understanding.<br>"I hear that. Just yesterday I had to put up with an especially bitchy customer, two radscorpions, and one of those Viper Gang fucks."  
>I shoved a spoonful of the stew into my mouth and swallowed before answering,<br>"Day before yesterday, I took out five Powder Gangers and a Deathclaw."  
>Bruce nodded, impressed. "You got any proof?"<br>I smiled and rummaged through my duffle bag before retrieving a Deathclaw's Claw and a container of food labeled NCRCF. "Nice bro."  
>I smiled and replaced the food and claw.<br>"So I have a question for you."  
>I said simply, examining the stew between bights.<br>"Shoot."  
>"How do you know Cook-Cook?"<br>Bruce's eyebrows raised.  
>I smiled slyly,<br>"This is his recipe."  
>I said, waving my spoon at the dwindling bowl of stew.<br>"I met that guy, you know the one they call Courier? The guy who helped NCR curbstomp the Legion?"  
>I nodded, indicated I understood who he meant.<br>"Well, I met him one day in a similair fashion to how I met you. He was wearing a set of that Veteran Ranger Armor. We sat down and ate some of my pathetic food which included some vegetibles and meats and he scribbled down the recipe to some Fiend guy's stew. Said he took it off the guy's body. I tend to believe him."  
>I chuckled,<br>"Now that's impressive."  
>Bruce nodded in agreement as I handed my empty bowl back to him.<br>"So how do you know the recipe?"  
>Bruce asked, shoving the dishes into a sack and tieing it back to the Brahmin.<br>"Apparently the Courier was generous enough to pin the recipe to the bulletin board at that bar down in Goodsprings."  
>I explained.<br>Bruce shrugged, and finished shoving everything back into the Brahmin's packs.  
>"So, before we go, would you like to buy something?"<br>I stood up and brushed the dust off of me.  
>"What the hell, show me what you got."<br>Bruce smiled and retrieved an inventory list from his pocket and started to read from it,  
>"For sale I've got about five hundred rounds of .22LR, a dozen stimpaks, five doses of Jet, a vial of Bleak Venom, a box of bandages, and three Caravan lunches."<br>I thought a moment then said,  
>"Give me three stimpaks, all the jet, the Bleak Venom, the Bandages and the Caravan Lunches."<br>Bruce smiled and added up the price of all the items.  
>"500 caps."<br>I dug around in my Duffle Bag and removed five tiny brahmin skin bags with 100 written across them. I kept my caps in 10, 50, and 100 Cap sacks that I made from Brahmin skin. Handing the small bags to Bruce I smiled slightly.  
>Bruce fished a tiny scale out of his Brahmin's pack and placed the sacks on it, weighing them.<br>"Yep. That's exactly five hundred caps. Thank you for your business."  
>I smirked,<br>"No problem bro, keep the bags, consider it a thanks for the free breakfast."  
>Bruce shrugged,<br>"Hospitality bro. Hospitality. Gotta' be nice to potential customers y'know?"  
>he pulled the Stimpaks and Jet out of the pack first and handed them to me.<br>I placed them in a pouch on my duffle bag, then shoved the lunchboxes he handed me next into the main pocket of the bag. He handed me the vial of venom and I chuckled darkly, slipping it into a separate pocket on my bag. The bandages went in with the stimpaks and Jet.  
>"So, you headed this way?"<br>Bruce asked, guiding his Brahmin down the road.  
>"Yeah, if you don't mind my company for a while longer."<br>Bruce pulled the large animal onto the pavement and its hooves clopped loudly on the asphalt.  
>"No prob bro. Let's get going."<br>I followed silently and noticed that Bruce had shoved his shotgun into its holster on the side of his Brahmin's pack, apparently he didn't consider me a threat anymore. Good. The less nervous people were, the longer your lifespan would be.  
>Bruce and I didn't talk much after this conversation, we just walked together in silence, occasionally making a comment about one thing or another. Bruce didn't mind being quiet. Good. Maybe we'd get along... <p>


End file.
